


you're so vain (you probably think this song is about you)

by kathkin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29778639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/pseuds/kathkin
Summary: "I write songs about all sorts of people, you know, people I know very well and people I know very little. Beautiful women, beautiful men, beautiful sunsets – on one occasion an especially beautiful horse. So say, purely for the sake of argument, I had written a song about you – which I have not, and would not – it would indicate only an appreciation for your physique, which is objectively very pleasing to the eye, and would certainly not indicate any feelings for you.”
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 18
Kudos: 146





	you're so vain (you probably think this song is about you)

**Author's Note:**

> You probably know where the title is from but just in case it's [You're So Vain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cleCtBP0o5Y) by Carly Simon.

The tavern was thick with smoke and the mingling scents of ale and sweat. She picked her way across the sticky floor towards the bar, avoiding the patches of sawdust, and said, “Jaskier.”

He was leaning against the bar, dressed in a rather startling purple that did not become him, and she took no small amount of satisfaction at the ripple of tension that went through him at the mere sound of her voice. “Ah,” he said, whirling around to face her. “Yennefer. A delight as always. What brings you here?”

“None of your business,” she said.

“Reasonable,” he said, and sniffed. “I don’t actually care. When did you get here, by the by? Did you just arrive or –”

“I watched your whole performance,” she said.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, and winced. “I mean. Not that it matters. I don’t care.” He waved his hand airily. “Nothing to me at all. I don’t care what you do,” he concluded, turning back to the bar. “Another, please.”

“Anything for your ladyfriend?” said the barmaid.

“My –” Jaskier glanced at Yennefer, standing conspicuously beside him. “Oh, you mean this ghastly witch? She’s not with me.” The barmaid shrugged and went to fetch his wine.

Yennefer waited till his drink arrived and as he peaceably sipped it said, “I liked your set.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said. “Did you want something?”

“I wanted to pass on my compliments,” she said. “It was very good. I especially liked the one about me.”

Jaskier choked on his wine. “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” he said. “I’ve never written or performed a song about you in my life. _Honestly_.”

“Oh, really?” she said. “It sounded as if it was about me.”

“Might I ask,” he said, “which of my songs you falsely interpreted as being about yourself?”

“ _She of the raven hair_?” she said.

“Now, really, Yennefer,” he said. “Strange as it may seem to one so self-evidently conceited as yourself, the world does not in fact revolve around you. That song is about a completely different raven-haired lady.”

“With violet eyes?”

“Do you think your colouring unique across the entire continent?” he said. “Yes. It’s about an entirely different raven-haired lady with purple eyes – and a much more agreeable personality, I might add.”

“I see,” said Yennefer. “My apologies, then. What’s her name?”

“Claudia,” said Jaskier.

“When did you meet her?”

“Our love blossomed in the spring of last year,” said Jaskier. “A remarkable woman. Graceful. Charming. Excellent dancer. I treasured our time together.”

“She sounds like wonderful company,” said Yennefer. “I’d love to meet her. Maybe you could introduce us.”

“Absolutely not.” There was a delicious hint of panic in his eyes. “Out of the question. No. Impossible, in fact.”

“Impossible?”

“She’s dead,” said Jaskier. “Yes. She died.”

“ _Really_?” said Yennefer, drawing the word out. “My condolences. You don’t seem very cut up about it.”

“Well, time heals all wounds and I only knew her a few weeks,” said Jaskier. “A few days, in fact. We weren’t close. I write songs about all sorts of people, you know, people I know very well and people I know very little. Beautiful women, beautiful men, beautiful sunsets – on one occasion an especially beautiful horse,” he went on. “So say, purely for the sake of argument, I had written a song about you – which I have not, and would not – it would indicate only an appreciation for your physique, which is objectively very pleasing to the eye, and would certainly not indicate any feelings for you.”

“Feelings?” Yennefer echoed. “I never supposed anything of the sort. Who said anything about feelings?”

“Nobody at all,” said Jaskier. “Certainly not me.”

“Yes, you did,” said Yennefer.

“When?” said Jaskier, who was really squirming now.

“Mere moments ago.”

Jaskier scoffed. “You’re imagining things.”

“You did, though,” said the barmaid. “You said it just now.”

Jaskier fixed her with a stare. “I’m sorry, is this any of your business?”

“That depends,” she said.

“On _what_?”

“Are you going to settle your tab for the night?”

Jaskier glowered. She stared unflinchingly back.

“Anyhow,” he said, fetching his purse. “My point still stands. It wouldn’t indicate anything about any feelings for your person. And it’s moot, because as I said, that song is about my dearly departs lover Claudette.”

“Claudia.”

“What?”

“You said Claudia just now.”

“She went by both,” said Jaskier without skipping a beat.

“I see,” said Yennefer. “Where was she from?”

“I don’t know,” said Jaskier. “Toussaint. Fuck off.” He drained his cup and slammed it down on the bar. “I’m retiring for the evening,” he said to the barmaid. “If anyone asks tell them I’m dead to the world.”

He stormed off in the direction of the stairs.

“I especially liked the verse about my eyes,” said Yennefer. “It had so many synonyms for purple.”

“Once again,” said Jaskier, “not about you. Not your eyes. Stop trying to steal my poor dead lover’s eyes. And stop following me!”

“I’m not following you,” said Yennefer, following him. “I’m merely walking in the same direction. I have a room upstairs.”

Reaching the stairs, Jaskier pivoted to face her. “Oh, _really_?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m going to bed. Is that so strange?”

“It’s just that I assumed that a creature of the night such as yourself never sleeps,” he said. “And at any rate, I know for a fact that all the rooms are booked. Go and find a different inn. This one’s mine.”

“Can I offer you some constructive criticism?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Chartreuse doesn’t mean purple,” she offered, “and if I hear you perform that verse about my breasts in public again I shall take your balls off.”

“How many times do I have to say that they are _not_ your breasts?” He clasped his hands together in supplication. “Will you please leave me alone?”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “This is the best thing that’s happened to me all week.”

“What a sad life you must live,” he said. “I pity you. Now go away.”

“If you insist,” she said. “I _was_ going to ask if you’d be interested in some new material.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.

“Never mind,” she said, turning to go. “I know where I’m not wanted.”

He caught her arm. “No, um, really,” he said, suddenly altogether more earnest. “What does that mean?”

Yennefer smiled at him serenely. “Why don’t we talk about this upstairs?”

*

“I’d like you to know,” he said afterwards muffled by the pillow, “that this did _not_ constitute an admission that the song’s about you. Because it isn’t.”

“Naturally.” Yennefer skated her nails down the bare skin of his upper arm. He was quite cute, now that she’d got him out of that hideous doublet. “I shall expect my song presently, then.”

Jaskier blinked. He raised his head from the pillow. “What?”

“I’m given to understand that you write songs for anyone you’ve so much as kissed,” she said. “If I’m to believe that _She of the raven hair_ is truly about Claudia or Claudette than I demand you write one that’s actually about me.”

He squinted at her. “ _What_.”

“You can perform it tomorrow night,” she said. “I can’t wait to hear it. It better be good, considering we went three whole rounds.”

He propped himself up on an elbow and glowered, or tried to. It came off as more of a pout. “You’re despicable. Fine. Fine! I admit it. The damn song’s about you.”

“No – no,” she said. “You won’t get out of this that easily. You already said that it’s about Claudette or Claudia. I’m not willing to share with her, even if she _is_ dead.”

“I made her up,” said Jaskier.

“Callous lies,” said Yennefer. “What an awful thing to say about your dead lover.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“I shall expect you to come up with some all-new synonyms for purple.”

He buried his face in the pillow. “Fuck off.”

“Make sure to include a verse or two about how good I was in bed.”

“Go to hell, Yennefer,” he said into the pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. **Geralt:** hey Jaskier look at that horse. What a great horse. You should write a song about about how beautiful that horse is. Hey Jaskier. Jaskier. Did you see the horse? You should write a song for that horse. Jaskier. Hey Jaskier. Are you gonna write the horse song? No pressure but I'd really like it if you wrote a horse song. Jaskier. Jaskier. Hey.
> 
>  **Jaskier:** UGH FINE I'LL WRITE THE SODDING HORSE SONG.
> 
> 2\. [the horse song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jzYzVMcgWhg).


End file.
